Taexalia

wild.life

Weeding

Weeds, they say, are simply flowers that are in the wrong place. A clump of thistles encroaching on my lettuce seedlings will end up in the composter, but the field nearby that has been left running wild with swathes of thistles that dance in a rich tapestry of colour are a favourite sight at this time of year.

Garden weeding has taken a back seat this week - the rain rain rain has kept me inside, and I have unleashed my frustration on some of the boxes and clutter that have encroached on the room that is supposed to be my creative den. I've been weeding the house, you might say.

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to give it all away, what it would feel like to have nothing that needs to be tidied, organised, stored or dusted. Then I lay my hands on a tattered piece of paper with some scrawny handwriting that reminds me of something I never want to forget...

So I let go of the idea of turfing it all and focus on weeding out and discarding the real clutter and I sort the seeds of memories into boxes for the loft.

I wonder about this modern need to store memories and trinkets and souvenirs in rooms we never visit, rather than keeping the stories only in the mind... but the creative den is starting to look like the room I've been conjuring and less like an excuse not to create things.